


Boys in Cars

by autoschediastic



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Greaser AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-26
Updated: 2011-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoschediastic/pseuds/autoschediastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam didn't kiss anything like the girls Tommy'd macked on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boys in Cars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [watery_weasel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/watery_weasel/gifts).



Quarter to ten on a Tuesday night, Tommy's stuck working the late shift at the shithole gas n' go on 4th. Except for the angry fizz of the florescent out front about to pop, the pumps have been quiet since half past eight. His homework sits untouched on the counter, tattered book closed on a few scraps of loose-leaf paper. He could get it done, but he doesn't want to bother. School is such a fucking waste of time. If is mom finds out his grades are slipping again, she's gonna give him hell, not that it'll be much different from the other kinds of hell she's always handing out.

A clank from the bell above the door cuts through the song tinny on the radio. Tommy doesn't look up from where he's digging at the crud caked in a gouge on the beat-up formica countertop with a thumbnail chewed down to the quick. Rio on Broadway's still running _The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance_. The pumps aren't supposed to close 'til twelve, but if he locks up early and beats it across town, he can make the midnight show by the time Valance hits the stagecoach.

A shadow falls over Tommy's hand. Heaving a sigh, he asks, "Smokes or gas, an' how much?"

"Neither," comes the answer, and Tommy's gaze snaps up to land on Adam fucking Lambert's slyly smiling face. "You look like you're bored, Tommy Joe."

Tommy's heart gives one hard, sluggish thud. He'd been doing an okay job avoiding Adam since the thing out back the library. The memory's so jumbled up in his head he's not exactly sure what happened, but it's thick with smoke from a shared cigarette, Adam's hand on his face, Adam's tongue in his mouth. Adam's fucking _tongue_ in his fucking _mouth_.

It was so damn good. Adam pinned him to the wall and tonguefucked him, and Tommy moaned slutty as a dime hooker for it.

"I'm busy," Tommy grunts. "Working."

Adam rests his elbows on the counter, arms folded, leans far enough forward the thin chain around his neck slithers against plastic. He's in a plain white tee shirt, sleeves rolled up so Tommy can see all the freckles on his arms, as stark next to the white as his slicked-back hair. Tommy's always figured he dyes it black, which is a real pansy-ass thing to do, but it looks good on him. Hot. Really smoking hot. "You don't look busy. You look bored."

Tommy flicks a glance out the window, hoping for somebody's mom to pull up and need a hand with the pumps. "Piss off, man."

"Not gonna happen," Adam says, the weight of his broad smile tilting his head to the side. Sliver glints in his earlobe, drawing Tommy's gaze. "You ran off on me."

"I fucking didn't," Tommy snaps. He did. The second he figured out he wasn't just letting Adam kiss him, he was fucking kissing _back_ , he wriggled out of Adam's grasp and took off like a bat out of hell. Adam didn't kiss anything like the girls Tommy'd macked on. Especially Stacey Kells, who wouldn't let him do much more than lick at the primly closed line of her lips.

Adam got him hard.

"C'mon, Tommy Joe," Adam says. Tommy grits his teeth. Nobody calls him Tommy Joe. He still doesn't know how Adam figured it out, though Squires says he got it breaking into the filing cabinet in the school secretary's office. That'd do it, except why Adam would risk getting caught popping the lock on that thing with the switchblade Parsons says he carries around in his back pocket just to riffle through Tommy's permanent record for his fucking middle name. "It wasn't all that bad."

"That why you're following me around now? Thinking I'm gonna like, shit," Tommy grates, not even able to say it.

"Thinking that maybe you'd do it again?" Adam asks, one eyebrow arched. Tommy's not as good at it as Adam, but he hikes one up in return anyway. "'Thinking maybe you liked it."

Tommy kicks his chair onto its back legs. It burns him up that Adam's right, ticks him off something terrible that he knows it, too. Tommy's got good reason to be scared. Bad shit happens to people that go messing around like Adam wants to mess around. Adam wants to mess around with _him_. If he really didn't want to give it a go, he could've told Adam straight up to get lost first thing. Maybe he kinda did, but he didn't mean it. He doesn't want to know how Adam knew he didn't mean it.

"So what?" Tommy says, coming off a hell of a lot cheekier than he feels.

Adam's gaze slides down, lands between the careless spread of Tommy's legs. Heat bursts out all over Tommy's skin, racing up the back of his neck. Outside is quiet except for that damn light. Tommy wishes it'd just blow already.

"So what if you liked it, you mean?" Adam asks, looking slowly back up. He doesn't wait for an answer he's not going to get. "I'd do it again. Get my hands on you, if you gave me the chance."

Like Adam's got the fucking thing on a leash, Tommy's dick sits up and starts begging. The guy's not even touching him, a whole two feet of useless countertop between them, and he's got Tommy aching. Tommy can't stop staring at Adam's hands. They're big, bigger than his, smattered with freckles. Maybe Adam's got freckles everywhere.

"Come on," Adam says, reaching across the counter, and Tommy's traitorous chair thunks down, puts him right in the path of Adam's hand. Adam smiles, bright and beautiful, eyes crinkling at the corners as he tilts Tommy's face up with a few fingers on his chin. "Let me kiss you again."

Swallowing doesn't clear the lump jammed in Tommy's throat. "Not here," he stutters, fumbling for the keys hung on an old nail under the register. "Out back, meet me out back."

Adam waits until Tommy's ducked beneath the counter, keys in hand, before he leans back, stretched out long and lean against the display of faded, yellowed road maps, and says, "Nope. I'll go with you."

"I'm not running," Tommy snaps, yanking open the door. The whole street's deserted in both directions. He's not worried about losing his job. Mr. Finch is a greedy, lazy asshole. The few customers that stop by at night more than make up for paying Tommy pennies under the table.

"I didn't think you were," Adam says easily. "Maybe I like watching you."

Tommy rakes a hand back through his hair--too long in front again, always getting in his eyes--and jerks his chin for Adam to hurry up so he can lock the door.

"Like when you do that," Adam says, crowding close. Too close. Tommy's elbow bumps his ribs, not at all an accident as Tommy jams the key into the lock, twists it hard. Adam doesn't budge. "I can't wait to touch you. You're gonna let me, aren't you?"

Tommy shoves Adam back a step to lead the way around to the cluttered back yard. The garage attached to the pumps hasn't been used in years, not since Finch's son got sick enough of him to leave town. Everything's exactly the way he left it, all the old scrap, the stacks of tires, the '41 Buick Special up on cinderblocks he used to get Tommy to help him work on. The piece of junk would probably be rusted straight through if they ever got more than a peck of rain. "You talk too much," he says.

"Tell me to stop," Adam says, his grin faltering when he spies the Buick, then bursting back full force. "Tommy Joe," he crows, delighted and wondering, "you want me to suck you off in the back of a _car_."

Tommy's cock throbs so hard he stumbles. Adam catches him, mostly, muscling him back against the Buick, pinning him to the rear door with the broken-out window. He hadn't been thinking about anything except Adam's hands. Adam's mouth a little, sure, because Adam mentioned kissing again, but not his dick and Adam's mouth. His dick _in_ Adam's mouth.

"Oh, baby," Adam says, a knee wedged between Tommy's thighs, one of Tommy's wrists caught, held down on the roof. "Baby, I'm gonna be so good to you."

"I'm not--" Tommy starts, cut off the second he opens his mouth by Adam's tongue shoving into it. He groans, feeling like his body's all tensed up and melting at the same time as Adam licks at the inside of his mouth, draws his tongue out and sucks on it, and _oh_ , oh fuck, is it good, amazing, Adam is going to do that to his _cock_.

Adam says, "You're so loud, Tommy Joe, I love it," when he cups Tommy's cock through his jeans, squeezes. Tommy rocks up onto his toes, gasping and grabbing at Adam's hand, not sure if he wants to yank it away or press it in harder, rub off on it the way he likes sometimes. "You gonna be loud like that when you put your cock in my mouth?"

"What," Tommy tries, "Adam," and Adam laughs, way down low in his throat, dark and dangerous-sounding, and says, "Keep saying my name like that, I'll do anything you want."

"Backseat," is the best Tommy's got.

Heat flares in Adam's eyes brighter than the glint of the streetlamp two fences over. The handle behind Tommy clunks, then Adam's hauling the creaking door open, letting it bounce wide on rusty hinges with a muted squeal. "Lie down," he says, "spread right out for me."

"Christ," Tommy chokes. Head swimming, he grabs onto the back of the front seat as he sits down, scrunching up for a second to duck in under the door and then scooting in a little more, both feet still planted firmly on the ground.

Adam taps the side of his knee, says, "Up."

Pure reflex, Tommy lifts his leg a few inches, not sure what the hell to do with it until Adam guides his foot into the car, making him bend his knee and tuck it into the footwell. It messes up his balance, making him grab harder onto the seatback, and then the sliver of light making it in through the open door is blocked by Adam crawling halfway in after him, one hand braced on the seat beside Tommy's head and the other working open Tommy's fly.

Tommy's throat clicks when he tries to speak. Clicks again when Adam smiles down at him, rucks up his shirt to bare his belly, then gets back to work on his fly, the button popped and zip peeling open. "Adam," he manages finally, "are you gonna really-"

"Yeah," Adam says, not much light in here but his eyes still glinting, eager, "yeah, I'm gonna. And you'll be so good for me, won't you, Tommy Joe? You're gonna to let me suck you sweet and slow and you're not gonna come until I want you to."

Strong fingers hook in Tommy's clothes, start pulling them down, and Tommy grates, "Not promising anythin'," because he's pretty sure he's going to go off any second, Adam's hands on him or not. Freed, his cock slaps down on his belly, a sharp smack of pleasure arching him up off the seat. Adam's big hands splay wide around it, framing it, so close to touching but not, and Tommy tries to swallow a whine, fails horribly.

"Just like that," Adam says, leaning down, his breath hot then cold on Tommy's naked cock, "promise me you're not gonna come before I get to play with you," and he nuzzles, goddamn _nuzzles_ at Tommy's balls, licks a long hot stripe all the way up to the tip of Tommy's dick, tongue dragging dry and stuttering long before it gets there.

"Fuck!" Tommy bursts out, and claps one hand over his mouth, holds it down with the other to keep from screaming his stupid head off like he thinks he might. Nobody else has ever even _touched_ his cock before and Adam is licking it, mouthing kisses all along one side, chasing after it when Tommy can't keep from squirming. Muffled curses leak out between Tommy's fingers, his face flaming at the loud back-alley noises he can't stop.

Adam flicks a glance up at him, says, "Promise me, baby."

"Please," Tommy gasps, slapping his hand onto the seat, flailing blindly through the dark for something to hold onto with the other. His knuckles hit the crank for the window and he seizes it in a death grip, broken edge of metal digging painfully into his palm. "Please, fuck, Adam. Adam, _please_."

"So sweet," Adam groans, finally taking hold of Tommy's cock, angling it up to sink straight between spit-slick lips.

Tommy's spine bows. His knee bangs into the back of the front seat. The car gives a shrill screech of metal on cement. It's too much, a bright white flare of sensation that doesn't make any sense until Adam takes hold of his sac, gives it a rough tug down, and then all Tommy can feel is wet, sucking heat, pressure and pull and he's going to come, he's going to come so hard.

Pulling off, Adam says, "Not yet, you promised," and Tommy nods frantically, bites down on his lip. A soothing hand strokes up his thigh but even that's too much. Pleasure arcs straight for his cock, makes it jump, and he whimpers, twists away until Adam stops. "Tommy Joe?"

"Fuck," Tommy wheezes, "fuck, _fuck_ , you touch me again, m'gonna come."

Adam's ragged moan echoes loudly in the car. "You're not kidding me?"

"I can't," Tommy pants, and he thought maybe a break would let him calm down, but he's thinking about Adam's mouth on him, remembering the brief, too-perfect flash of it, and thick precome squeezes out of his cock, smears wetly on his belly. He's never been so turned on in his life. He's never wanted to _not_ come so badly and been so helpless to prevent it. His body doesn't even feel like his own anymore. "You, you're gonna make me, I can't-"

Without a word, Adam swallows his cock. He bucks up too fast, a scrape of teeth shocking a noise out of him, but it's not even close to enough to stop him from losing it. The barely-visible ceiling of the car disappears in a starburst, his eyes squeezed shut so tight it hurts. He can feel Adam struggling to swallow around the shove of his cock, come and saliva dripping free from the stretched corners of Adam's mouth to land hot on his skin, Adam's hands finally on him, holding him down by the hips so Adam can finish sucking him off, lips tight around the head. Adam keeps going long after he's wrung dry, starting to soften. The pleasure beating at Tommy's nerves turns sharp, hurting like the handle digging into Tommy's hand, but he can't find his voice to tell Adam to stop.

When Tommy's hand thumps down on Adam's shoulder, Adam grabs it, turns it palm up and spits. Thick and croaking, Adam says, "Jerk me off with it," pushing Tommy's dirty hand down the front of his battered blue jeans, his dick right fucking there, huge and hot in Tommy's grip.

"Your jeans," Tommy says, stupidly, and Adam says, "I know," already tugging them open, giving Tommy the space to jack him. Tommy's done this often enough on his own it should be easy. It's nothing at all the same when it's someone else's cock, though, the angle is all wrong and he can't tell if he's holding on too tightly or not tightly enough, and it's shocking when Adam jerks, fucks into his fist. Even more shocking when Adam comes, neither one of them with a hand in the way to catch the mess so it gets all over Tommy's stomach. Adam takes hold of Tommy's wrist, angles it down so he's coming on Tommy's wet cock, and then he's shakily pushing Tommy's hand through it, making him smear it all over his own dick and Adam's, hot and filthy and like nothing Tommy's ever even dreamed.

"Tommy," Adam says, catching him up in a sloppy kiss, carelessly getting come all over the side of his face. Tommy couldn't care less if he tried. It's his come, anyway, his and Adam's, he's going to stink like sex unless he washes up in the tiny six-by-four bathroom nobody ever uses inside the station, and he doesn't even care. He likes the way he and Adam smell mixed all together dirty and thrilling.

"See," Tommy says once Adam's released his mouth, breathless and shaking still, charged up inside, ready to take on anybody who gets in his face about him wanting this even while he's scared shitless of it. "Told you I wasn't running."

"Not to anywhere I didn't want you to go," Adam says.


End file.
